


Trust Me

by Kalimyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalimyre/pseuds/Kalimyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill: Lestrade is in the middle of a very distressing murder case. He's stressed and a bit emotional. When he finally gets home, Mycroft runs him a bath and gives him a very sensual massage, complete with happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning, there is some discussion of the case which involves violence against a child. Nothing graphic.

Greg let himself into Mycroft’s flat, opening the door quietly in case Mycroft was sleeping already. He probably was, it was very late and Greg knew he’d been busy with some kind of mysterious meetings all week. The living room was dim, but a lamp had been left on for him, and Greg smiled a little. Much like the key Mycroft had quietly pressed into his hand a month ago, it was a small gesture of welcome. Mycroft always did speak louder with his actions than his words.

Greg sank onto the sofa and tugged his tie off, then shrugged the jacket off his shoulders, letting it sit in a rumpled pile on the cushion beside him. He leaned forward to remove his shoes, but ran out of energy halfway through and just put his face in his hands and took a deep breath. His eyes felt gritty with exhaustion and his shoulders ached; he knew he needed to sleep but if he went to lie down now he’d only stare at the ceiling and run the details of the case through his head again. 

He heard the soft pad of Mycroft’s footsteps, and then there were warm fingertips on the back of his neck, smoothing his hair. “Hello,” Mycroft said.

“Hey.” Greg sighed and turned his head into the touch. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“I was up.” Mycroft knelt and finished untying Greg’s shoes, then slipped them off. His hands rested on Greg’s knees, thumbs rubbing in idle little circles, the warmth he always radiated sinking into Greg through the fabric. 

“That feels nice,” Greg murmured sleepily. 

“Are you all right?”

Greg shrugged and scrubbed his hands over his face, finally looking up. Mycroft regarded him steadily, with open concern, and something about the compassion on his face made Greg swallow and glance away. “Rough case,” he said. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Mycroft nodded. “You should get some rest.”

“Yeah, I know,” Greg agreed. “I don’t think I can though, I’m too wound up. I’m just going to sit here a while, okay? I’ll come to bed later. Don’t stay up on my account.”

A small smile curled into one corner of Mycroft’s mouth. “I think I have a better idea,” he said. He stood, and held out a hand. Greg took it automatically and let himself be pulled to his feet. Mycroft cupped his jaw with one hand and kissed him, softly, tasting of tea and hazelnut biscuits. His other hand began undoing the buttons of Greg’s shirt.

Greg leaned into the kiss, but pulled away when he felt his shirt slide to the floor. “My, I’m sorry, I’m really not in the mood.”

“Shh,” Mycroft said. “Trust me. It’s not what you think.”

Greg raised an eyebrow when he felt Mycroft’s hands undoing his belt and fly. “Kinda seems like it is,” he pointed out.

“Trust me,” Mycroft said again. “Please?”

Greg sighed and nodded. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Mycroft’s shoulder. His trousers slid down his hips, followed swiftly by his pants, Mycroft’s hands guiding them down and leaving a trail of heat on his skin. Too tired to respond properly, Greg just stood still, swaying a little as he leaned on Mycroft. The other man was wearing a dressing gown over sleep bottoms and a soft cotton tee, and the smooth material felt decadent against Greg’s bare skin. He slipped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, and felt Mycroft’s arms go around him in return and he pressed close. Something tight and hot in his chest eased a little, and he let out a long, shuddery breath.

“Good,” Mycroft said quietly, his voice a low murmur in Greg’s ear. “Come with me.”

Greg followed him into the bathroom, and watched as Mycroft turned on the taps, filling the enormous tub with steaming water. As it ran, Mycroft slipped out of his dressing gown and hung it on the hook behind the door, then stripped out of his sleep clothes. Greg couldn’t help a wry smile at the way Mycroft fastidiously folded them and stacked them neatly on the counter. Even naked, the man looked cool, collected, and professional.

Mycroft added a bit of scented oil to the bath, and soon the sandalwood and bergamot smell filled the small room. Greg took a deep breath and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. He opened them again when Mycroft took his hand and pulled him toward the tub. Mycroft got in first, then settled Greg in front of him, sitting between his spread legs with his back against Mycroft’s chest. The water was almost too hot at first but he could feel his skin adjusting, the heat traveling rapidly up his chest and making sweat break out on his forehead. 

Greg groaned and leaned back, and Mycroft nuzzled the line of his shoulder and neck, all soft lips and faintly stubbled jaw. They sat quietly, Greg breathing in the warm, steamy air rising off the water, Mycroft idly stroking his chest and arms. 

“We identified the body today,” Greg said eventually. “The girl that was found in the abandoned theater. I made the notification to the family.” He closed his eyes and twisted, pressing his face into the hollow of Mycroft’s neck. “Her mother cried. Her father wanted me to promise we’d find the bastard who did it. I couldn’t promise him that.”

Mycroft squeezed him closer, his arms strong around Greg’s shoulders. He didn’t say anything.

“I’ve got a couple leads,” Greg said. “Nothing solid though, she’d been there too long, and after what the killer did to her there wasn’t much…” He stopped and took in a careful, controlled breath. “She was fourteen, you know. Her mother had pictures. She showed me the pictures. I don’t know why.”

Mycroft stroked his back, scooping up water in one hand and letting it run down his skin, the heat easing some of the ache there. His other hand carded through Greg’s hair, rubbing at his scalp and the nape of his neck.

“I’ve been working homicide a long time,” Greg said. “It shouldn’t still get to me like this.”

“Of course it should,” Mycroft said. “You’re a good man, Greg.”

Greg pressed his lips tightly together and stayed quiet, not trusting his voice. Mycroft’s fingertips left wet trails on his skin as they moved up and down his arms, over his back and shoulders, up into his hair again. It was repetitive, soothing, and Greg tried to focus on it. Eventually, the pressure in his throat eased and he could breathe normally. He let himself go limp against Mycroft’s chest, and Mycroft held him there, close. The surface of the water went still and placid around them, rippling only a little as they breathed.

They stayed until the water went lukewarm, and then Mycroft hauled them both up. He dried Greg off first, wrapping him in a large fluffy towel and rubbing his skin until it was pink and clean. He made quicker work of drying himself, and then he took Greg’s hand again and led him into the bedroom.

Mycroft pushed him gently onto the bed on his belly, and Greg sprawled out with a long sigh. The bed smelled of Mycroft, subtle and heady, and he pressed his face into a pillow and breathed deep. There was a faint clinking of glass to his right, a rustle, and then the bed dipped as Mycroft got in. He knelt over Greg, a knee on either side of his hips, and his palms rested in the small of Greg’s back.

His hands were slick with oil as they moved up Greg’s back in a long, sweeping motion. Greg groaned and bowed his back under the touch. Mycroft’s thumbs ran firmly up the line of his spine, and then outward, curling under his shoulder blades and rubbing at the tension there. Fingertips tug into the muscles of his shoulders, working in small circles. Greg gritted his teeth; it _hurt_ where the tightest knots were, but then Mycroft shifted his weight and pulled his shoulder a certain way and suddenly there was a ripple of relief all the way through his body.

“Oh,” Greg moaned, and melted into the mattress. “Damn, I forgot how good you are at this.”

“Then I need to remind you more often,” Mycroft replied. He leaned forward to press a hot kiss right at the top of Greg’s spine, and Greg shivered, his skin tightening into pinpricks of sensation. His thumbs returned to the small of Greg’s back and pressed there, drawing tension away from the center and spreading it to the sides until it vanished. He rolled his knuckles on Greg’s skin, putting his weight behind it, then soothed the lingering ache with broad, flat sweeps of his slippery palms. 

Mycroft leaned forward until his chest rested against Greg’s back, his weight settling fully on him. It made it hard to take a full breath but at the same time it felt heavenly. Greg was held down, secure, absolutely covered in Mycroft. He could feel Mycroft’s breathing, a warm flutter against his neck, and then Mycroft rubbed his jaw against Greg’s hair and kissed just behind his ear, where the skin was thin and sensitive. 

Greg lost track of how long the massage went on; Mycroft’s hands were methodical, relentless, and soon his muscles were quivering jelly. The touches became lighter, Mycroft trailing his fingertips, leaving trails of tingling warmth up and down his back. He slid further down the bed and kissed down Greg’s back. It was wet, his mouth open, his tongue flicking out over each bump of his spine. Greg shivered again and pushed his hips into the mattress beneath him.

Mycroft paused at the very base of his spine, then nibbled there, catching the skin between his lips and sucking lightly. He pressed more open mouth kisses to the round curve of his arse, one on each side, and then again, slowly moving closer to the center. Greg arched his back hopefully, lifting his hips. Mycroft chuckled and licked a stripe from the top of his cleft to the small of his back.

Greg couldn’t hold back a frustrated whine, and Mycroft soothed him with another kiss, harder this time, sucking the skin just over his tailbone. Greg slid a hand under his belly and gave his cock a firm squeeze, grunting in relief. He made a protesting sound when Mycroft pulled his hand away.

“Hush,” Mycroft said. “Trust me.”

Greg nodded and settled again, his cock a firm pressure against his belly, pinned against the mattress. He didn’t even know when he’d gotten hard.

Mycroft’s hands curved over his arse, and he slid one finger from Greg’s perineum all the way back, leaving a trail of slippery oil. Greg drew in a fast breath, then let it out in a startled rush when Mycroft followed the same path with his tongue. The faint scrape of his stubble contrasted with the softness of his mouth and Greg squirmed, lifting his hips again, wordlessly begging for more.

Mycroft licked him again, lapping the skin behind his balls in strong, flat strokes, then higher, holding his cheeks apart so he could tongue at the sensitive opening. Greg clutched at the blanket and arched his back, up on his knees now, face buried in the pillow and his arse in the air. Mycroft moved with him, never stopped, not for a second and Greg could distantly hear someone moaning wantonly. He thought it might be him.

Mycroft’s tongue was wicked, flickering teasingly over his hole, then dipping in, lapping at the sensitive inner rim. Greg felt slick and wide open and utterly undone, his cock aching and bobbing neglected against his belly. He wriggled, thrusting his hips back against Mycroft’s mouth, then forward into empty air. Mycroft stayed with him, anticipating every move, his mouth soft and greedy.

“Please,” Greg said. His voice came out high and shaking. “Please, I have to, please let me,” and then he couldn’t resist, his hand going back to his cock. He got one, two, three delicious firm strokes before Mycroft pulled him away again. Greg bit his lip to stifle a wail.

“Hush,” Mycroft said. The vibration of his voice made Greg shudder. “I’ll give you what you need.”

Greg nodded, then moaned again when Mycroft pointed his tongue and pressed it in deep, wriggling inside him. Mycroft made a satisfied hum and Greg jerked, his cock slapping against his belly and leaving a splash of pre-come. 

Mycroft pulled back and bit him on the arse, right in the meaty part of the curve, hard enough to sting a little. Greg twitched in surprise, then groaned as Mycroft soothed the bite with kisses. Mycroft’s hands were strong on his hips, and his voice came out in a growl when he said, “Turn over.”

Greg rolled, staring up at Mycroft who knelt between his legs. Mycroft’s eyes were blown dark, a flush high on his cheekbones and halfway down his chest, and his mouth was slick and pink. “Look at you,” Mycroft murmured, licking his lips. “You want it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Greg panted, “yes, anything, anything.”

Mycroft leaned up to kiss his chest, mouthing over his nipples until they drew into tight buds and Greg squirmed, writhing on the bed. “Please,” Greg muttered. “Please, please, please…”

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “Trust me, I’ll take care of you.” He kissed a line down Greg’s chest, lapping at the skin, and he moaned as he tasted the tang of pre-come low on his belly. Then, without warning, he slid his mouth over the head of Greg’s cock and sucked firmly. Greg gasped and his hips stuttered upward, but Mycroft was prepared and moved with him, then pinned him down and took him deep.

Greg squeezed his eyes shut and tossed his head back and forth on the pillow. Mycroft had one hand curled around his cock, and the other slid behind his balls, cupping them, rolling them gently in his palm. He flicked his tongue, then used it to rub the frenulum, his lips snug and firm around the head. Greg shuddered and then let out a startled gasp when two of Mycroft’s fingers slid into him. He was still loose and slick from the rimming and the fingers went in easily, then curled, finding his prostate.

“Oh god,” Greg babbled. “Oh fuck, yes, just like that, harder, please My, I’m so close.”

Mycroft rubbed with the pads of his fingers, sliding around the edges of the sensitive gland, teasing him, and then pressing right where he needed them, pressing hard. Greg cried out and thrust up into Mycroft’s mouth, and he felt the gorgeous pressure around the head as Mycroft swallowed. That talented tongue swirled around him, eager, and Mycroft moaned. Greg opened his eyes and looked down at him, at the hectic patches of colour on his cheeks, his glittering, dazed eyes and the pink stretch of his mouth around Greg’s cock. 

Mycroft met his eyes, and then deliberately took him deeper, swallowing him all the way down. His fingertips gave a firm push inside, rubbing slickly and Greg threw his head back and came, the pleasure starting low in his belly and rolling through him in heady waves. He could feel his mouth moving but had no idea what he was saying, his head completely empty of thought, everything focused on that brilliant point of feeling. 

He sank into the mattress as it ebbed, and then just kept sinking, shivery little aftershocks rocking him as Mycroft gently withdraw his fingers and placed a kiss on the head of his softening cock. He drifted, aware of warmth and moisture as the massage oil and sweat was cleaned off him. Then Mycroft was there again, solid against his back, curling Greg into his arms and nuzzling at his shoulder.

Greg stirred and blinked sleepily. “Did you… I should… m’sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Shh.” Mycroft stroked his belly and held him tighter. “I told you I would take care of you.”

“Not fair to you,” Greg protested.

Mycroft’s voice was a heated whisper. “I can assure you, I enjoyed that very much.”

Greg smiled and put his hand over Mycroft’s, lacing their fingers together. “Me too. Thank you.”

“Anytime. Go back to sleep.”

“’Kay,” Greg mumbled, already halfway there. He felt Mycroft’s mouth curve into a smile against his neck, and heard Mycroft’s contented sigh, and then he was gone, fast asleep.

*


End file.
